Patience
by Malandra
Summary: He was trapped by Sam's hazel gaze, somehow less warm than it used to be, but full of intensity that made Dean feel like he was being examined not in a sexy or cocky way, but more in a manner that said he was going to be taken apart, methodically, until he was nothing but the raw, lustful, carnal creature of flesh that Sam seemed to know lay at his core.


"Sam, I don't want this."

"Yes you do, Dean."

"For fuck's sake, I don't!"

"Stop struggling so much, you're going to hurt yourself."

"You wouldn't do this if you had a soul."

That made him stop. Sam looked up from between Dean's legs, and the older Winchester got the feeling that that blank look was as indicative of impending rage as John's alcohol-induced ravings were.

"Dean."

He fought off the shiver that threatened to trace up his spine, giving a shake of his shoulders hide it. Jesus Christ, when Sam used that tone of voice... Dean gave him an insolent look, which was slightly ruined by the flush crawling up his neck.

"My soul just got in the way of things like this. My old self would never do something like this to you. He was too worried about hurting you, or being cruel." Sam paused, shamelessly dragging his gaze over Dean's spread legs and exposed hole, following the path of his eyes with a finger. Dean looked away until Sam's hand went up to his chin and forced their eyes to meet. "But me... I know you can take it."

Sam leaned close, and Dean swore his brother brushed his cock on purpose as his lips ghosted over Dean's ear.

"I know you like it."

Dean's breath caught. He was trapped by Sam's hazel gaze, somehow less warm than it used to be, but full of intensity that made Dean feel like he was being examined not in a sexy or cocky way, but more in a manner that said he was going to be taken apart, methodically, until he was nothing but the raw, lustful, carnal creature of flesh that Sam seemed to know lay at his core.

Dean managed to break the spell after a moment, shaking his head firmly and tugging on the cuffs around his wrists. "No. No, I told you no, Sam. Soul or not, I don't want this."

Sam smiled that smile that remind Dean eerily of Lucifer, that smile that meant Sam was amused by Dean's antics like he was a child in a world of adults.

"Dean, you don't know what you want. You want your brother – your _souled_ brother – but I know you want me, too." Sam was suddenly very close, his teeth grazing over Dean's throat. Dean stopped breathing for a moment, feeling a hand come up to wrap around his neck loosely.

"I know you love how rough I am with you. I know you love being taken and being shown who you belong to. Sam never did that with you, did he?"

Sam's lips were at his jugular, teeth scraping his skin like knives, and Dean's heart sped up with a rush of adrenalin. His brother's teeth closed lightly on the spot when his pulse was visible under his skin, fingers tightening minutely around his throat.

"You like being held down and _fucked_, don't you, Dean?"

Dean shuddered visibly. The word had become a part of his vocabulary so long ago that it lost its sense of taboo, but the way Sam said it was positively _filthy_, like Dean was hearing it for the first time again.

"Don't you?" The words were accompanied by a squeeze to his throat, the fingers tightening until Dean could barely breathe, and he was humiliated to feel a rush of blood to his crotch. Sam fingers went tighter, an unspoken command to answer. Dean kept quiet until his lungs started burning for air.

"Yes," Dean rasped, using the last of his breath to push out that one syllable. Sam smiled that smile again, holding onto his throat until the edges of Dean's vision started to go black. He let go and Dean pulled a great, ragged breath, exhaling unsteadily.

"See? You just need to be shown what you want, Dean." His little brother ran his fingers through Dean's hair, which was getting long, but Sam wouldn't let him cut it.

Dean sent his brother a glare, opening his mouth to shoot back a snappish remark when, faster than he would have believed possible, Sam pushed something between his lips and wrapped it around his head, clipping it at the back. It took Dean a moment to realize it was a ball gag, and he let out an outraged noise. Sam smiled apologetically.

"Sorry, Dean. I know you can't accept this without arguing, so I have to gag you. I'll take it off later if you behave, okay?"

Dean thrashed, yanking on the cuffs and rattling the bindings around his ankles. Sam had hooked his ankles to a spreader bar after jumping him this morning – which was a cheap move, because Dean had barely been awake. Sam pulled another strap from a questionable-looking black duffle bag, attaching one end of it to the middle of the bar and pulling the other end towards the headboard, over Dean's head. It forced him to bend his knees to his chest, exposing his ass to Sam. Dean flushed with shame, looking away and making a disgruntled noise from behind the gag.

Sam sat back once he'd secured the strap to the headboard, his face expressionless as his eyes traced over Dean's naked form. Dean could feel his gaze moving down to his half-hard cock and lingering there before dragging across his ass. A grin suddenly cracked across Sam's face and for a moment, he looked so much like Dean's Sam that it hurt. Dean's expression softened for the barest of moments before a big hand came down on his thigh, slapping lightly.

"You're so cute like this," Sam said, pressing a kiss to the inside of his leg. Dean spat curses at his brother, but they came out unintelligible through the gag. Sam just laughed.

"Shh, big brother. Let me take care of you."

Dean tensed as Sam dug through the black bag again, relaxing when he saw it was just lube that Sam pulled out. He watched suspiciously as Sam coated hid fingers. His Sam – Sam with a soul – refused to do anything kinkier than doggy style, even when Dean suggested it or asked bluntly. Dean didn't know if his brother was still getting used to the idea that it was okay that they were brothers and they were fucking, or if Sam was just incredibly vanilla, but he'd be lying if he said that soulless Sam and his kinks weren't fucking hot. Still, getting jumped, stripped, and strapped down against his will _and_ getting lectured wasn't really something Dean enjoyed. Nonetheless, when he felt Sam's fingers against his hole, he pressed himself down on them.

Sam chuckled, coaxing a finger past the rim and pushing lube into him. Dean squirmed. The asshole hadn't had the decency to warm it up first.

"Just wait, okay, Dean? Promise it'll be good in a second."

"Mmh mm!"

Sam just ignored him and hummed quietly to himself as he worked the lube into him. Dean huffed and let his head fall back, feeling like a puppet strung up for his brother's amusement. Sam without a soul was a real dick.

He glanced up when he felt Sam pull his finger free, eyes narrowing when his brother dug through the bag again. His eyes went wide when he saw what his brother pulled out. If he didn't know better, he would've said it was a beaded necklace. But he knew better. He wriggled his hips away as much as he could, protesting incoherently and letting out a muffle yelp when he got a slap on the ass for his struggling.

"Behave, Dean. Then I'll give you what you want." Sam glanced around for a moment, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under Dean's butt so Sam could get at his hole more easily. He watched Sam spread lube over the beads. Dean felt the flush spread up from his neck to his cheek as the first bead pressed against his entrance. He clenched against the intrusion, refusing to let it in.

"C'mon, Dean. We can do this the easy way, or I can just take what I want."

Another spank and Dean grudgingly relaxed, surprised by how easily the first bead was pushed into him. The next one was bigger than the first, but smaller than the diameter of Sam's finger, so he took it easily. The got larger and large, one more, two more, and Dean was starting to feel the stretch. He groaned against the gag when they got to one that was as thick in diameter as almost two of Sam's fingers.

"You can take it, Dean. Relax."

Dean huffed, forcing his muscles to go lax and Sam nudged the bead into him. Dean could feel them inside him, round little bumps pressing against him. It felt weird, but he was soon distracted when Sam was pressing another one against him. There were more? Shit, how long was the string?

Sam pressed on the spreader bar, pushing Dean's legs farther up, insistently inching another bead into him, despite his noises of protest. The stretch definitely hurt this time, and Dean was mortified to admit that it went straight to his cock. Sam saw his dick twitch and grinned broadly.

"I knew you were a kinky bastard," he purred, slipping in another bead while Dean was busy being indignant. He let out a yelp from behind the gag, groaning. That last one had to have been an inch and a half wide.

"One more, Dean. Last one."

Dean shook his head quickly, brows pushed up and together. He felt so full. He didn't know how many beads were inside him, but he knew he couldn't take another one. Sam made a contemplative face, and then tugged a bit on the strand. It shifted the beads inside him and Dean felt them press against his prostate. He moaned around the ball, relishing in the _ahfuckyeahagain_ feeling. Sam tugged again, and Dean vaguely noted his brother's grin as he writhed, spine arching as he groaned.

Then, just like that, Sam pushed the last bead in.

Dean yelled from behind the gag, pain and pleasure mixing in one sensation as he was stretching achingly wide for a moment before the beads were rolling against his prostate. He panted, eyes squeezed shut. Absently, he could hear Sam murmuring, "So pretty, so gorgeous for me."

Dean opened his eyes, anger mixing with embarrassment and pleasure. Sam looked at him again in that intense way. It made Dean feel like bare and exposed. He looked away, Sam's hand on his chin turning his head and forcing their eyes to meet.

"I want your eyes open, okay, Dean?"

Dean glared at him until the hand on his jaw tightened painfully, nodding stiffly. The intense look was gone and Sam was running his hands happily over Dean's ass, pausing to nip or tug on the beads until Dean was moaning and writhing again. He felt Sam pause suddenly, looking down and grinning broadly.

"You even have freckles on your butt!" he exclaimed, sounding like an excited little kid.

Dean rolled his eyes, making an irritated sound when Sam suddenly got up and walked to the little table under the window. He turned his head to watch whatever his brother was doing, but all he could see was Sam's broad back. His brother turned back around with the stir stick from his coffee in hand, licking some of the liquid off it.

_That better not be going up my ass, I swear to God, Sam…_

Sam stopped by the edge of the bed, feigning a contemplative look. "So, I went out and got my coffee this morning, and I was just looking at this thing, and I said, 'Huh. This kind of looks like those magic wand things women use to get off. This one doesn't vibrate, obviously, but I was think we could try it on you anyway." He grinned.

Dean shook his head, fixing a lethal glare on his brother and making noises of protest as Sam knelt between his legs again. The thing was probably three-fourths the length of Dean's hand and half the thickness of a finger. It had a little spherical knob on the end that was fatter than the rest. Dean bucked his hips away, but the motion just shifted the beads inside him and made him shudder.

Sam spread lube over the stir stick, humming quietly to himself. He locked a hand around one of Dean's hips and gently nudged the toy in, despite the older Winchester's muffled objections. Dean felt it go into him easily, moving past the beads until the round part was resting firmly against his prostate. He shuddered, each move he made rubbing the toy against his abused bundle of nerves.

Dean let his head fall back and went as still as possible. His cock was painfully hard at this point, but he'd never gotten off without touching himself. The beads and the stir stick weren't enough. He looked up at Sam with a pleading look. His brother grinned, standing again and wiping his hands on his jeans.

"I have to take care of some things. I'll be back in a little bit. Just sit tight, okay?"

Dean's eyes locked on Sam, panicked. _No. No, you can't leave me here._ He thrashed, ignoring the bolts of _ahyes_ sparking through his body, but Sam paid him no heed. His brother pressed a kiss to the ball gag, winked at him and disappeared out the door.

Dean stared after him, feeling betrayed for a moment. His eyes stung for a moment before he dropped his head back, blinking firmly. He was _not_ going to cry. This was little more traumatizing than Dean had counted on. He closed his eyes again, counting to ten and back down until he was calm.

Looking down at himself, Dean gave a resigned sigh from behind the gag. He could feel the plastic head of the stir stick pressing against his prostate, providing a low hum of pleasure. If he could just… Dean shifted his hips, trying to try and get it to press from firmly against him. He moaned, feeling saliva drip from the side of his mouth and slide down his chin. He couldn't care less at this point.

Dean kept chasing his orgasm, ever out of reach. Every time he managed to rub against the toys inside him in the right way, the pleasure would build and build and build and then plateau just shy of release. He made a sharp noise of frustration, tossing his head back. Damn Sam and his fucking soullessness.

An hour or two must've passed and Dean was covered in sweat, panting hard. His hole felt raw and he was bordering on oversensitive now. He gave one last, frustrated gyration of his hips and the stir stick lodged with the beads against his prostate in a way that had him crying out. Dean panted hard, eyes wide, and rolling his hips again. The motion pushed the plastic further against him, making his back arch as he yelled from behind the gag. Maybe he would get to come.

But he didn't. He kept moving, kept grinding the toys against himself, and he still couldn't get over the edge. It felt so damn good it almost _hurt_, and Dean made a mental note to beat the shit out of Sam for this when he came back. He panted, trying to give up and ease the toys away from his sensitive nerves, but they wouldn't budge. Every move he made just wedged them against his prostate again, making him writhe. Dean felt like his eyes were locked wide open, unseeing as he was wracked with wave after wave of futile ecstasy.

Dean didn't know how much time had passed by the time Sam showed up again. The blinds were shut, so he couldn't watch the sun, but he'd been on the edge of release for God-knows-how-long and his dick was an angry red, painfully hard. His eyes were bloodshot, tear tracts tracing down his cheeks. He couldn't remember crying, but most of the time had been a blur of pain that was this side of pleasurable. He had saliva trailing from the edges of his lips, mingling with the layer of sweat coating his body. Dean gave Sam a half-lidded glare, not daring to move any more than that.

His brother had entered the motel room distracted, not looking up until he'd closed the door and turning to face Dean. Instantly, Dean saw Sam's pupils swallow his irises, frozen for a moment as his eyes traced over his quivering form. Sam was between his legs in and instant, pulling the gag off and kissing him before Dean had a moment to speak. Dean took the kiss gladly, sated by the gentleness in the action. When Sam pulled away, though, his anger flared.

Sam put a finger to his lips and Dean just barely repressed the urge to bite it. "This was a lesson in patience. I'm thinking you failed, Dean." He laid a hand on Dean's cock, sending sparks through his body.

Dean was barely coherently. "Just _please_ touch me, Sammy. Please, god, touch me..!"

Sam smiled and pulled the stir stick out of him first, earning a shuddering, relieved breath. The beads came next, pulling (Dean was loathe to admit) whimpers from his throat. Dean felt empty once Sam had pulled all the toys free, taking his time packing them back into the back.

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Sam's hand wrapping around his cock. Sam was murmuring something, but it was lost in Dean's chant of his name, so worked up that he couldn't feel anything but Sam's hand.

"Sammy, Sammy, Suh-Sam…"

His skin burned hot where they touched, yanking on the spreader bar and the cuffs and twisting under Sam's hand. Dean was crying out, but he sounded so hoarse, he barely recognized his own voice. His hips were bucking frantically, back arching, that searing feeling spiking through him—

Dean's orgasm hit him like an eighteen wheeler, pulling a silent cry from his throat. His spine arced to near-breaking point, head throw back carelessly. It went through him in waves, shaking him with such force that he was sure it was the most intense release he'd ever had. Dean's vision went white, then black, and before he passed out, he heard Sam murmur something.

"I_ told_ you I knew what you liked."


End file.
